


Breathe (Say Something)

by el3anorrigby



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Gift Exchange, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, M/M, Whump, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-21 04:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: In spite of his vague memory, Napoleon did remember what had happened between Illya and him the night prior to their mission.Before the whole catastrophe.He remembered what had mattered.With time, everything will be all right.





	Breathe (Say Something)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221Browncoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221Browncoat/gifts).



> I mixed up bits and pieces of your requests, I hope you don’t mind :) 
> 
> 1) You wanted some Napoleon whump that includes a head injury while Illya and Gaby have to try and get him to safety, with Illya angst. 
> 
> 2) Something non-smutty where Illya and Napoleon are in a situation where they basically think they're toast and they finally admit that they actually kind of like each other. (bonus points for Napoleon whump and forehead kisses.)

i. 

It had all been a blur. First, Napoleon had been at a gala with Illya and Gaby for a simple fact finding mission on THRUSH, the next thing he knew he was making his way out of what he thought was an underground cell where he had been held captive for information after getting separated from his partners.

The drinks they had served him were probably laced with drugs. It had to be it because Napoleon couldn’t seem to remember anything else prior to being taken.

Suffice to say he was lucky he was still alive. His encounter with his captors had resulted in a stinging gash on his forehead. The injury made his head throb and blood was trickling down profusely on his face. Head injuries were always the worst. But what’s more worrying was the stab wound on the right side of his gut. The knife had found its way when he had refused to cooperate with his interrogators. The blade had slid in, jarred deeply through his skin and he hadn’t been able to hold back a pained cry when the leader of the group had thrusted the weapon further in before snapping the blade from its handle when Napoleon kept dodging their questions. They had left him alone after that, frustrated when they’d gotten nothing, though leaving him untied was to be a big mistake. Napoleon, somehow, despite the flaring pain all over his body, had managed to unpick the cell lock using his nifty tool hidden inside the insole of his shoe, and after giving two guards on duty the slip, he was crawling in sewers of drainage water, making his escape. Despite not really being able to see where he was going, he managed to reach the drainage opening which led to a stream.

Seeing what was in front of him, Napoleon straightaway realised his options were limited. He didn’t know where THRUSH had taken him, and the late December weather in Stockholm was definitely not helping him. Napoleon’s suit was already ruined and soaked and he definitely did not fancy having a swim in the frigid cold waters. But he didn’t have the luxury to think things over. THRUSH would soon find out he had escaped.

Hoping for the best, Napoleon decided to make a run along the water bank. His main priority was to get to safety or some form of cover from THRUSH in the woods. His body though did not agree with his actions. He was losing blood and before long Napoleon lost his fight to exhaustion. Stumbling, he collapsed to the ground, almost falling into the stream in the process but was lucky enough to grab hold of a low protruding branch before dragging himself up. He climbed the bank, hissing and groaning in pain. Once on top, Napoleon rolled on his back. The effort had taken its toll on him. But he couldn’t give up, not just yet. Summoning his will, Napoleon pulled himself together and made his way into the woods. He managed a couple of steps but it was too much for him. After falling again, Napoleon crawled towards a nearby tree, leaned heavily against it, and soon lost consciousness.

 

ii.

 

“Illya, your hands!”

Illya’s knuckles were a right mess. Blood was dripping from it. He had gone berserk, hitting Napoleon’s captors with his bare hands when they told him Napoleon had escaped. They had found where Napoleon had been held captive, the THRUSH warehouse a couple of miles off of where they had attended the gala, but now that Napoleon wasn’t there, the more pressing matter in Illya’s head was finding his partner.

“He is injured. We do not know how bad is his condition. We need to find him,” he argued in repressed anger, his voice quivering as he spoke.

“We will, just as soon as I fix you up.”

Gaby was tending to his injuries but Illya wasn’t taking any heed of what she’s saying. When he’d entered the cell, he had immediately noticed the blood on the floor, instantly feared the worse. The beaten up guards had admitted they had roughened Napoleon up but that he was still alive when they had left him. The information did nothing to calm Illya’s nerves.

“You should have let me make him talk. You should not have stopped me.”

“You were going to kill him!”

Gaby’s words rung in his ears. And it was the chilling truth. UNCLE’s agents had to step in or else the ending for the THRUSH man would have been unsightly. Though he had wanted it, it would not have given Illya the satisfaction. He still did not know where Napoleon was.

Lost in his thoughts, Illya moved away from Gaby as soon as she finished bandaging his hands and stormed out of the holding cell, ignoring Gaby’s cries. He walked aimlessly down a narrow hallway which was longer than he anticipated, but he kept going on, he kept on walking and thinking of Napoleon, couldn’t hear his name being called until a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Illya whipped around and was about to pull his gun from his holster when he saw it was Gaby.

“Illya.”

Illya’s breath halted, his hands dropping to his sides. Something painful wrenched his insides knowing he had almost hurt her. But Gaby closed the gap between them, unafraid. She reached out, placed one hand on his and gripped it hard in her hold.

“The team are zooming in on Napoleon’s location. They’d lost his signal earlier but we won’t give up. You know we won’t give up. We will find him. It’s only a matter of time.”

Illya stared at Gaby. He wanted to believe her. But he felt so helpless. He wasn’t in control of the situation.

“He’s not responded through his communicator since we lost him.”

“Our tech team is currently fixing the com link,” Gaby reasoned.

“But I am afraid…”

Illya didn’t finish his sentence.

_I am afraid we’re too late. I am afraid I’ve lost him._

“Illya,” Gaby called his name again. “Look at me."

Slowly, Illya met Gaby’s eyes. Her expression was soft, understanding. He could see that she was afraid as well. It was almost like looking in a mirror. But Gaby clearly knew it was so much more for Illya.

For the first time since Napoleon was taken from them, Illya was letting someone feel the desperation he was experiencing, despite him struggling to articulate what he wanted to say. And Gaby was the only one that could understand what he was going through.

“Please, Gaby. Help me find him.”

Gaby nodded. She did not have to say anything, already running scenarios in her head of what she would do to ensure her partners were reunited, even if the outcome would be the worse.

 

iii.

 

When Napoleon opened his eyes, it was still dark, a small indication that perhaps it hadn’t been too long since he’d passed out. Shifting to prop himself up, Napoleon winced at the sudden piercing pain he felt.

One of his hands came up to wipe the trickling blood running down the side of his face, the other clamped over his wound at his side. The edge of the broken blade was sticking out of his skin, and he contemplated to remove it. Leaving it alone meant he would not bleed out too quickly and that it would be his best chance of survival despite how much he wanted to rip it out. But by God, he was hurting. His vision was already starting to blur around the edges again, the pain in his side great enough that it hurt to move, hurt to even breathe. Deciding to leave his wound alone, Napoleon then silently prayed that Illya or Gaby would find him soon enough, though he feared Illya’s reaction once he finds him in that condition.

_“Solo? Can you hear me?”_

_“Yes, Peril. Loud and clear.”_

_“Good. I really hope you have a way of getting the information we need, quick. I hate being here. This suits more to your decadent taste.”_

They had been at the lavish gala THRUSH had held at an art house as a guise for their unscrupulous activities. Illya and Gaby had posed as a wealthy couple, and Napoleon as their trusted art dealer, wanting to buy some precious art to add on to their collection, when Napoleon recalled that last banter they had before their communication link went haywire. Napoleon had signalled to his partners that it was all right, that they still had eyes on him despite the fact. But, somehow, his cover had been blown by a THRUSH agent who had grown suspicious of Napoleon. Tricking him into leaving his partners, Napoleon could not recall anything else after he was led out of the main ballroom when everything had turned fuzzy for him and he’d seen nothing else but black.

In spite of his vague memory, Napoleon did remember what had happened between Illya and him the night prior to their mission.

Before the whole catastrophe.

He remembered what had mattered.

They had been at the hotel. In his room. First they had been arguing. Illya unhappy at how Napoleon was always taking things lightly when it came to his well-being, at how he was always willing to put his life in the line of fire. Illya had reprimanded him, saying he was selfish and that he did not stop to think what he himself meant to Illya. Stunned, Napoleon had responded by saying hurtful words. Saying Illya had no right to tell him how to live his life. The argument soon escalated to a scuffle. They had thrown punches, a few hits landing where it hurts, but by the end of the night they had ended on his bed. 

Napoleon remembered the moment very well.

The tension. The heat. It had been everywhere. He was pinned down by Illya, the Russian’s eyes questioning on his, his hands gripping Napoleon’s wrists hard as he tried to convey his unspoken thoughts, as he tried to tell Napoleon everything he had wanted to say ever since the start.

That he cared for Napoleon so much and that the idea of losing him was too much for him to bear.

But words were not what Illya had needed to make Napoleon see it. Instead, he had left steamy kisses along Napoleon’s jaw and down his neck. His impatient hands unbuttoning Napoleon’s shirt, revealing his skin inch by inch before slipping the garment off his shoulders. Napoleon, understanding it all, had wanted to protest because Illya was doing all the controlling, but when that hot mouth started moving south, down and down and down where it mattered, Napoleon had completely forgotten his argument. That skilled mouth had left imprints down Napoleon’s bare chest, down his abs, lighting him up with warmth. It had felt so good, felt so, so good. Addicting. And Napoleon couldn’t lose it when he had only started to get a sliver of its taste.

Everything with Illya was natural, welcoming. It felt right.

Despite being unbearably stubborn and how he was always angry during the beginning of their partnership, Illya was also the most honourable man Napoleon had ever known. He was kind, fiercely loyal to a fault. Napoleon was attracted to him from the start. Addicted. He could not ignore what he felt and neither did Illya. In truth, that was the real cause of their argument, their pent up emotions blowing over after a year of working together. And now, now Napoleon wanted those strong, warm arms around him once again. If he tried hard enough, he could feel phantom traces of Illya’s touch, could feel that steely frame holding him from behind.

Suddenly, Napoleon was afraid. He did not want to die. Not after founding someone he could trust and love. Not after feeling happy for the first time in a long time. He had people around him that he could call friends. Real friends. 

He did not want to leave Gaby. And he did not want to leave Illya.

Especially Illya.

_Hold on, Napoleon. Please._

Napoleon imagined Illya’s voice in his head. He could see Illya’s eyes filled with worry. It helped thinking about his partner, it kept the pain he was feeling at a more tolerable level and his eyes just a bit more awake.

_Illya. Think of Illya. You can’t leave Illya behind. You can’t._

But then he closed his eyes and felt himself being pulled under once again. He was about to succumb when he heard static cracklings on his communicator. Napoleon’s hazy mind quickly refocussed. And the first word that came out from his mouth was Illya.

 

iv.

 

Seconds after UNCLE’s tech team had fixed the com link, Illya tried in vain contacting Napoleon but his efforts came to naught. There was no response like he had hoped for. Nothing.

Gaby and team were still getting the trackers to work. Her eyes were fixed on the transmission receiver, hoping to see a blip that would indicate Napoleon’s whereabouts. It had almost been an hour since they stormed the area and the longer it took them to find Napoleon, the dread coursing through Illya’s body worsened.

“He could be anywhere. We should set out looking for him now. In these conditions, and at night, it is worse. It is a mistake waiting this long.”

“It would be a waste of time if we don’t even know where to start.”

Worry filled Gaby’s voice. She was so tempted to give in to Illya but she had to be the voice of reason.

“Illya…”

“I will go, will take a few men. He cannot have gone far if he’s hurt,” Illya argued with a strained grunt as he tried to keep himself calm. He was on his feet, checking his gun when he barked his orders. “You stay and focus on fixing that tracker.”

Just as Gaby was about to argue, Illya’s earpiece crackled to life and it made him jump.

“Illya..?”

At the sound of that voice, Illya’s heart lurched.

“Cowboy??”

Gaby’s eyes widened when that nickname she was so used hearing upon Illya’s lips was uttered. “Is it Napoleon?”

Illya could not answer Gaby even if he wanted to. Gaby scrambled at her own earpiece, fixing it so she could get into the conversation, while Illya was focused on trying to get Napoleon to say something, anything that would let him know that he was all right. That he was safe.

“Cowboy...Solo, are you all right? Where are you? Talk to me...”

At first there was silence and Illya thought he had only imagined Napoleon’s voice. But to his relief, Napoleon started talking again.

“I...I am fine, but don’t know where I am. I escaped, but I’m…” a huff and then there was a groan and Illya’s gut twisted. Napoleon wasn’t fine. He was hurting.

“Solo, keep talking, please,” Gaby chimed in when she saw Illya was struggling to maintain his composure. 

“Hey, Gabs, it’s g-good...to hear you.”

Gaby fought back a choked sob, muttered it was great hearing Napoleon’s voice as well. She tried getting him talking again.

“I tried my communicator but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t, couldn’t contact you. Not until I heard Illya’s voice seconds ago.”

The worry Illya was feeling was now coupled with anger. Napoleon had tried to contact them, somehow, but they had been too slow. And if anything were to happen to Napoleon now, Illya would never forgive himself. His hands began to shake, his jaw tightening.

“Peril,” Napoleon’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Listen, I...I went through some sewers. Came out to a stream. I’m in the woods. But I can’t tell...can’t tell my coordinates.”

Illya let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Hold on, Cowboy. We will come to you. I will come to you.”

“Okay, if you say so, P-Peril.”

And then Illya heard nothing else. He shouted Napoleon’s name, tried desperately to get him talking again but it was futile.

Illya felt his face grow pale.

“Gaby,” he started, turning to her. “We have to go.”

Gaby nodded. There was no way she could disagree with Illya this time.

“The drainage leads to this area here,” Gaby said, pointing to a location on the map spread out in front of her team. The site was a couple of miles radius off of where they were. “There is a small forest behind it. This must be what Solo had mentioned. The woods. We should start our search there.”

When Gaby finished giving out her orders to a handful of UNCLE’s agents with them, she realised Illya was already making his way out the door without waiting any further. Grabbing her gear, Gaby hurried behind him, hoping beyond hope that they weren’t too late to save Napoleon. 

 

v.

 

Napoleon felt guilty because he had abruptly ended his conversation with Illya when the pain he was feeling became a bit much to bear. It was strenuous trying to sound all right when he clearly wasn’t. He did not want the Russian to worry.

His wound hurt, and Napoleon had not clarified that little bit of information to Illya because if he had... well, Napoleon did not want to imagine what Illya would do. He needed Illya to remain calm. It was no use having the both of them panicking at the distressing situation. It would have left them at a disadvantage, especially Napoleon himself. Now that they’ve communicated, it gave Napoleon some semblance of hope.

Pushing away the nauseous pain, Napoleon scanned his surroundings with his eyes from where he was sat. There wasn’t anything in the woods that could help him with his predicament. But doing anything at all was damn near impossible with his injury. All that strenuous movement would make him bleed out.

Napoleon groaned. He had lied to Illya. He wasn’t fine. There was no way he was going to get out of this without Illya’s help. And he was certain it would be a while before Illya would be there, if he was able to locate him at all.

What was worse, the cold weather was getting to him. When he was escaping and moving about, it had created body heat and it was quite easy to stay warm. The two times he had drifted in and out consciousness, he wasn’t even aware of the cold. But now that he was only sitting still and bleeding out in the freezing night with all of his thoughts starting to swirl in, he realised he wasn’t warm at all. Now, he wasn’t sure how long he was able to withstand the cold. Within a couple minutes, Napoleon was already shivering, if he weren’t already, and was trying very hard to stay warm. He wrapped his sodden suit jacket tight around him but it did not help.

Feeling defeated, Napoleon laid down on his uninjured side with a wince, could feel the wetness of his blood sipping in between his fingers holding onto his wound. 

If he didn’t die of blood loss, he would probably die of hypothermia, or maybe both. It was an awful thought.

As the minutes ticked by, it seemed like that it would be the case. Napoleon felt himself grow weaker. And the cold was unbearable. Death was creeping its way, gnawing at him. He tried to stay awake even if it was getting extremely difficult to do so. 

_You are not allowed to die, Cowboy._

Illya. He could hear Illya’s voice in his head again. Napoleon regretted not being able to see him one last time. He regretted never being able to tell him how he really felt for the man.

And Gaby. He was going to miss her as well.

He loved them so much.

Panicking, Napoleon tried to reach for his communicator again. He wanted to hear Illya for one last time but his fingers won’t cooperate. They were frozen stiff. 

“Cowboy!”

Napoleon did not know how long he had lain there unmoving, hadn’t realised that his eyes had closed, not until he heard his name being called. His eyes snapped open at the sound of that voice, struggled to adjust his vision, expecting to see only darkness of the night but instead, clear blue eyes were staring down at him worriedly.

“Peril?”

Napoleon’s voice was hoarse and dry. “You found me...how?”

Illya wasn’t hearing Napoleon. He was frantic. Already down on his knees, Illya’s hands were on Napoleon’s face, then at his sides, checking his wound. He gasped when he saw Napoleon’s bloodied shirt and his heart dropped at the sight of the ugly wound underneath it, the broken blade protuding slightly from his broken skin.

“You are stabbed!”

“I might’ve missed telling you...that bit of info,” Napoleon weakly murmured.

He tried to sit up but couldn’t find the strength to make himself move. His muscles were unwilling to obey his commands. He only managed to lift his neck, one hand trying to reach out for Illya. “I’m sorry.”

Illya muttered a curse in Russian and without thinking further, he carefully scooped Napoleon up in his arms. Napoleon immediately felt relief in Illya’s hold. He felt safer. Illya’s body heat was also helping him warm up from the shivering cold, and he nestled his head against Illya’s chest. Before he could stop it, Napoleon’s eyes were slipping shut again but he felt a gentle shake and it fluttered open.

“Stay with me, Cowboy. Stay awake.”

Napoleon didn’t reply, not promising anything. He kept his head against Illya’s chest, huddled against him for warmth as Illya carried him to a waiting vehicle. Gaby and team were there, and once they were off to the hospital, Gaby assured Illya that UNCLE’s medic would know how to fix Napoleon up, would know how to make him whole and better again. They had to. Illya would not give them any other choice.

“He will be okay, Illya,” Gaby assured him, every now and then shifting her focus from the street in front of her to her two friends at the back seat of the car. From the rearview mirror, she saw how Napoleon was leaning against Illya’s chest, and Illya steadying him with his right arm while his left held Napoleon secure around his torso. Illya’s own hands and shirt were smeared with Napoleon’s blood. Scared, Gaby stepped harder on the gas pedal. 

“He will be okay,” she repeated, the words now more for her sake rather than anyone else’s.

“Gaby? How long?” Illya asked. He did not even make an effort to hide the fear in his voice.

“We’ll arrive in five minutes,” answered Gaby as calm as she possibly could.

Illya’s body was trembling now. Napoleon had gone too quiet.

“Cowboy?”

“It hurts,” Napoleon groaned. His heavy hooded eyes were on the Russian.

“Hold on, we will be there soon,” Illya whispered. He kissed Napoleon’s bloodied temple, kept his lips pressed there, not breaking contact. Then he murmured against his skin, “You will be fine.”

“I hope so. Because I feel like dying right now.”

Illya’s heart almost stopped at the thought. 

“No! You are not going to die. I will not let you,” he said in a shaky voice. No, he was not going to lose Napoleon. Determinedly, he tightened his grip around Napoleon’s body as Gaby sped through the night. 

“I feel tired,” Napoleon mumbled against Illya’s chest. “Can I sleep?” 

His eyes fluttered close but Illya shook his body, trying his best to keep him awake. “Cowboy, we’re almost there.”

“But I’m so tired, Peril.”

“Open your eyes,” Illya commanded and Napoleon did as he was told but it was clear the effort to do that was becoming harder with every passing second. His eyelids droop.

“Napoleon?? No...”

Illya’s voice was more frantic, borderlining on panic. Another jostle from him but Napoleon was already unconscious, and this time, he didn’t wake when his name was yelled.

 

vi.

 

Illya had burst into the hospital hours ago. He had carried his bleeding and alarmingly still partner all the way, only handed Napoleon over to UNCLE’s trusted medic team after much coaxing from Gaby. The doctor in charge, Gaby had assured him repeatedly, was great. One of the very best. But the knowledge did nothing for Illya. His restless pacing and constant harassment of the medical team prepping Napoleon up for operation made things difficult. Eventually, he was kicked out of the operation room.

“Let them do their job. Solo is strong. He will be fine.”

As Gaby spoke, Illya let her words sink in. Yes, Napoleon was strong, he’s the strongest person Illya had ever known, yet, he couldn’t convince himself that everything will be all right. That Napoleon will be okay. He stood there, outside the door, occasionally still pacing back and forth the hallway, but every now and then he could not help but peer through the glass window. The operation was in progress and seeing Napoleon so fragile and still frightened him. And Illya had never felt as frightened and as helpless as that.

He was so consumed with his thoughts, his world currently centered inside that operating room, that he was not aware Gaby had gripped his hand in hers. And when she called out his name, it was then Illya realised she had moved to put her arms around him.

“You love him.”

It wasn’t a question from Gaby and Illya couldn’t deny something she had probably known all along. Long before he himself did. He stared down at her and only nodded. But he was losing the fight to stay calm. He couldn’t. 

“This will end in disaster, yes?” Illya whispered. 

Gaby shook her head.

“No. The only disaster is if you both had realised your feelings all too late, and you lost him tonight.”

Illya did not like what Gaby had suggested, but it was the truth. Illya wouldn’t know how to deal with it if it ever happened. It was something he couldn’t imagine he would ever have to face. 

“Illya, come and sit with me.”

Though he would rather stay outside the operating room, Illya relented to Gaby’s request. She led them to a waiting room, then pulled Illya down to take a seat next to her. The plastic chairs were not the best to get comfortable on but it would have to do. Sitting side by side, she then leaned her head against Illya’s shoulder.

“Let us rest for a bit..”

“Thank you for everything,” Illya said quietly after a while, acknowledging what she’d done for him. Sighing, he moved one arm and circled it around her shoulders so she could get a little more comfortable. Closing his eyes as well, Illya tried to get that much needed rest just as Gaby had suggested but his thoughts were still on Napoleon. And it won’t let up, not until he was certain Napoleon would be all right.

 

vii.

 

It was an extremely long, anxious wait before the doors opened and an unconscious Napoleon was wheeled out on a gurney towards his private room. Dr. Jensen, the doctor who operated on him, exited the room soon after and walked alongside her patient. Illya at once swarmed the doctor with questions.

“How is he? His condition?” he immediately asked while his eyes never left his partner. Gaby, at his side, was just as anxious.

Dr. Jensen explained it to them with no lies, and no nonsense. She knew that they wanted all the information.

“Mr Solo’s stab wound was bad. The knife, or rather dagger, slipped through and went in about four inches deep. The blade, as you might have known, was cruelly left inside but that actually helped to stem the flow of blood. Thankfully enough it did not hit anything vital. A little to the left it would have punctured his pancreas and we would have a problem.”

Illya shivered at the doctor’s sentence.

“Despite that, he still had lost a lot of blood. The blow to his head also contributed to it though it wasn’t as bad as it had looked. We had to give him some transfusion. He had also suffered from a mild concussion, hypothermia, and some minor frostbites, but nothing too serious. We managed to stabilise his body temperature.” 

She glanced down at Napoleon at her side, sighing. “In short, Mr Solo is a lucky man. But he will need a good rest. The medication I’d given him is enough to ensure he won’t be awake for the whole night, or maybe much longer. But when he does wake up, he won’t be awake for long.”

“But, he will be alright?” Illya asked.

“With time. Yes. He’ll be fine.”

That was all Illya needed to know. Relief was shown on his face but the worry was still evident. 

“Thank you, doctor,” Gaby quipped in. She knew Illya was still too shaken to say anything.

They soon came up to Napoleon’s room. Inside, the nurses helped settle Napoleon into his bed, gently placing him on the bed and tucking the covers up to his shoulders tightly. 

“Normally, I would not allow any visitors after such an operation, but I guess I’ll make an exception this time.”

Gaby appreciated the doctor’s understanding, silently thanking her for it because there was no way anyone could keep Illya away from Napoleon after everything that had happened. And she had no qualms the chaos that would be if anyone did try. 

Once everything was in order, the doctor and the nurses disappeared, leaving Illya and Gaby alone with Napoleon.

“Illya, I’ve to return to base. Waverly would need some updates on Solo and the mission itself,” Gaby started. 

Illya remained silent.

“Will you be okay?” she asked a second later. 

“Yes. I will have to. For him.”

Hearing that, Gaby turned her attention to Napoleon who looked pale and she dreaded the idea if they had not found him in time. Pushing the thought away, she leaned down to place a kiss on Napoleon’s forehead.

“You sure you don’t want to come? You need the rest too, Illya. You’re exhausted.”

“I will stay.”

Illya had made up his mind long ago so it was fruitless for Gaby to even argue. After giving him a long hug and promising to return, she then quietly left the room.

Once Gaby was gone Illya pulled up a chair beside Napoleon’s bed. Carefully, he took his IV free hand and held it, eyes gazing down at him. Napoleon had dark shadows cast under his eyes. Before he was covered in blankets, Illya had seen the bandages heavily wrapped around his abdomen where he had been stabbed. His head was also neatly plastered where they had stitched up the gash on his forehead. He looked too vulnerable and to Illya’s touch, Napoleon’s body was still a bit colder than he found comforting. Illya wanted, _needed_ his warmth but there was nothing he could do but wait.

As the long hours ticked by, Illya occasionally found himself threading his fingers through Napoleon’s hair worriedly. Once in a while, exhaustion crept upon him too, forcing him to shut his eyes but it was never more than a few minutes at a time. He did not want to be asleep when Napoleon eventually wakes. And it was a long eighteen hours later before Napoleon stirred. Feeling a slight pressure on his chest, he foggily opened his eyes to see a hand there, right over his heart. And he followed the arm up to see Illya there, looking down at him, but past him. He was so deep inside himself that he did not seem to have noticed that Napoleon’s awake now. His lips were pressed into a line, brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Where are we?” Napoleon croaked, making Illya jump. He was immediately leaning over the bed, the hand that had been on Napoleon’s chest moving up to softly cup his cheek. 

“You are awake. I...I was beginning to worry.”

It took Illya another moment before he realised he had not answered Napoleon’s question. “We are in hospital, still in Stockholm.”

“How long have I been out? How did you find me?”

Illya eyed Napoleon’s prone form and then he was shaking his head. He told Napoleon it did not matter how they had found him, but it did matter when he had lost him and the time it took for Napoleon to regain consciousness was long enough for his liking.

“It is almost two nights that you stayed unconscious. I did not like it even if the doctor said it to be normal. ”

“You always worry too much about me,” Napoleon said. He was trying to lift the tension. Obviously it did not work because that familiar scowl was quick to take over Illya’s face. 

“I am being serious.” 

Napoleon groaned in return, blinking a few more weary times before attempting to sit up. Illya was quick to push him back down onto the bed, his scowl deepening.

“What are you doing? No sharp movements,” said Illya, throwing Napoleon a knowing look.

“That’s funny considering something sharp did stab me.”

“You almost died! This is no time to joke!”

“I’ve been through worse. I can get up and move around if I want to.”

Napoleon began to move around again, but Illya’s hand was pinning him down to the bed, not letting him get up even an inch. He gave Napoleon a pleading look, eyes that held much of the worry he felt in the past hours. 

“Please, rest, Cowboy.”

Napoleon saw all the panic that had been in those eyes and something in him softened enough with that look that he relaxed and sighed grudgingly, almost childlike. 

“Fine.”

Illya removed his hand, but to his surprise, Napoleon stopped him halfway, snatching up that large and warm hand in his own. This time it was Napoleon giving him a pleading look which Illya couldn’t ignore. He entwined their fingers together, the American then murmuring half teasingly, “You’ve gone soft for me.”

“Shut up.”

There was no malice in Illya’s voice. In fact, he was smiling a little.

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you again,” Napoleon admitted seconds later. Illya only shuddered because Napoleon was too close to the truth. Illya had been scared as well. He gripped Napoleon’s hand, thumb brushing his knuckles. “I would not let that happen. I could not lose you.”

Napoleon smiled and though it took him an effort, he tugged Illya’s hand to his lips. “You know, I’m not going to rest unless you do too.” 

He was dead serious. Illya only threw him an incredulous look.

“I do not need sleep...”

Napoleon cut off Illya, finishing his sentence. “Liar. I know you need it. You’ve been through a lot. Now get over here before I change my mind.”

Napoleon patted the space beside him on the bed and Illya raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to get into bed with you.”

“Well, if you put it that way, then yes. But no arduous activity for us, I’m afraid. Unlike the last time.”

Illya rolled his eyes but before Napoleon could say more, Illya took on the offer though he tried not to seem too eager about it. In truth, his insides were in knots, his heart hammering against his chest. The doctor could come in, or the nurses, and they would disapprove. He could get kicked out of the room and Illya did not want that. But the last of his doubts disappeared when he gave one look at Napoleon again. Kicking off his shoes, he ignored the butterflies in his stomach and soon was with Napoleon under the covers, arms around his shoulders. Illya was careful not to jostle him too much, still mindful of his injuries.

“The nurses might not be happy with this.”

Napoleon only shrugged. “It’s only a stab wound.”

“And you almost died from it,” Illya reminded Napoleon angrily.

They kept silent after that, letting the slight tension ebb away before Illya spoke again.

“You must be really drugged up to suggest cuddling.”

“Am always up for cuddling.”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Illya grumbled grumpily making Napoleon chuckle. Honestly though, Illya liked the idea of them cuddling and supposed he would get used to it soon enough.

Surprisingly, after that Napoleon did stop talking. Sighing, Illya held Napoleon closer, chin rested on top of Napoleon’s dark hair. Just holding him, reassuring himself that Napoleon would be okay. And Napoleon let Illya hold him, let him have that reassurance. He hated that he had made Illya worry. Unaware, he quietly promised Illya that he would take better care of himself. Illya only hummed, knowing it was a promise Napoleon would be hard pressed to keep. 

Eventually, the morphine and exhaustion won over Napoleon’s tired eyes, and he fell asleep again. Illya deliberated if he should leave but then he didn’t let go. He kept holding Napoleon close, protecting him from any nightmares that might come. Perfectly content with their position, perfectly content with Napoleon in his arms.

~ _Epilogue_ ~

Illya did not startle at the sound of the door opening hours later, just pulled away a little from Napoleon to look up at their unexpected visitor. He figured it was one of the night nurses making her rounds. Instead, Illya saw that it was Gaby, standing there with a huge grin on her face at the sight before her, muttering _‘I’ll come back later’_ and was out of the room before Illya could even stop her. 

“She knows about us.”

At the sound of Napoleon’s voice, Illya actually smiled instead of chiding his partner for fake sleeping. He looked down to see Napoleon with his eyes still closed, but the corners of his lips upturned. It made Illya’s heart swell. Wordlessly, he then turned to take Napoleon’s face between his hands and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. Illya’s gentleness made Napoleon feel like he was something fragile and precious, which Napoleon knew he was definitely not. Nonetheless, the act took Napoleon’s breath away. That one night they had shared before he was taken had been about urgent and desperate touches between them, but _this_ , _this kiss_ was much more intimate and meaningful, and Napoleon let himself believe that he thoroughly deserved it.

Despite the circumstances, what had befallen him had fixed him. Had fixed _them_. And later, weeks later, after he was discharged and back safe in his own apartment, Napoleon laid down with Illya on his bed, limbs tangled together, while the Russian ran his fingers over the scar that Napoleon calls his lucky one because it could have been so much worse. But Illya only remembered it as something that had almost taken Napoleon away from him.

“This wound, was never your fault,” Napoleon said to Illya, catching his hand that’s on his hip before settling it against the steady beat of his heart. “Understand?” 

“Yes, I know,” Illya answered, somehow still managing to sound grumpy even after agreeing, even after all that had happened. But Napoleon would not change anything, not one single damn thing. Because everything to him, now, was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this story. RL was in the way. So I tried my best and this story was what I came come up with. There is just a tiny bit of flashback from Napoleon’s pov where they got together but nothing really smutty. And obviously in this story they kind of more than just like each other. Sorry, I can’t help writing them this way. :)


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